Swallow
by Jack Lecter
Summary: Jalex one-shot.  Rated for language.  The inside of Alex's head is a messy place.  Not all that original, but I needed the practice.  Reviews make my day, and criticism is welcomed.


Disclaimer: I don't own Wizards of Waverly Place, or the introductory quote by Marilyn Manson.

Setting/spoilers: Set in mid-S1. Spoilers for First Kiss.

A/N: Okay, I'll admit this isn't terribly original, and I don't know if there's very much support for this 'ship anymore, but I thought I'd give it a shot, anyway. Reviews are my inspiration and my motivation to write more work, so _please_, if you have the time.

In this story I tried to include both some dialogue and some sort-of sexual stuff, neither of which I'm very good at writing yet, so be warned. Any criticism or advice would be welcomed.

Also, does anyone have any good fic recs? I got kind of addicted to the creepily-realistic stuff and I seem to have run out. My four favorite writers would probably be: omens, hiding duh, Sandalaris, and lonewonderslove, and if anyone knows of work comparable to theirs, I would greatly appreciate the recommendation. Thanks.

_So ask yourself before you get in-_

_ You know the insurance won't cover __**this**_

_ Are you the rabbit or the headlight?_

_ And is there room in your life for one more breakdown?_

_ -Marilyn Manson_

She isn't sure exactly when it started, and she never, _never_ thinks about where it's going to end.

It hadn't always been there. Of this she is sure.

Give her _some_ credit. True, self-analysis hasn't usually been her _favorite _activity, but she's not _blind_. And, regardless of what her teachers think, she's not _stupid_, either.

She's raked her brain over every casual encounter going back freaking _years_, looking for clues, hints, for even the tiniest of signs that could have served as warning. If she'd been paying attention.

That was one thing she'd never been great at- paying attention- and usually that suited her just fine/down to the ground; it had not, in her experience, proven to be a particularly vital skill set. Paying attention led to thinking, and then overthinking, and before you knew it you'd talked yourself out of your perfectly acceptable course of _winging it_.

_Winging it _worked for her. And when it didn't, when some massive, unforeseen complication leapt from the shadows to sucker-punch her, Justin was always there to fix things. And she liked to watch him fix things. So really, even when she screwed things up, winging it worked for her.

This time, though, she couldn't ask Justin to help her, and without Justin, she was finding, getting blindsided really, _really_ sucked.

Maybe that's not quite the right word- _blindsided_- but she's not _Justin_, she doesn't have a freaking _dictionary_ in her head. It hadn't been _sudden_... but it had certainly been a _surprise_.

Surprise, sure, try _shock_. Try _fucking cerebral hemorrhage_ (and when, exactly, did she start thinking in his weird geek words?).

He'd been her favorite target _forever..._ and she doesn't know just when that had started to mean something _else_ to her. Hours of wracking her brain######

But, okay, this one time she'd waited for him to fix his hair in the morning (twenty minutes? what was he, a girl?), and when he emerged, she'd _creamed _him with a snowball. In _July_.

He freaked out, as she'd _known_ he would, blood pounding in his face, eyes bulging comically.

"Guh-wuh-buh-Aargh! Alex!"

"Is that your way of apologizing for taking so long in the bathroom?"

"_No_, it is _not, _when Mom and Dad find out... I _told_ you I have that English presentation today..."

The thing is, he _had_ told her.

"Well, duh, why do you think I picked today to throw that?"

She isn't sure either of them know the answer to that question, really.

Gathering his composure, he said, "When I tell Dad about this, he's going to ground you until the wizard competition."

She shrugged; "I'll deny it. It'll be your word against mine. That's the good thing about snowballs- they _melt_."

He'd still been processing this when she hit him with the second one, her laughter mingling with his surprisingly girlish shrieks.

Grounded and in her room an hour later, and she could still feel that squirming warmth in the pit of her stomach. Planning a prank on Justin was good, but seeing him loose it like that was about a million times better. There was something about seeing him loose control, seeing his carefully ordered demeanor succumb to waves of shock or rage, that made her feel...

(what? what was the word on the end of that sentence?)

This wasn't supposed to feel this good. _Nothing_ was supposed to feel this good.

Kissing that guy at school had felt a _little_ like this. Even if she _had_ only done that for Justin's benefit. And, really, if the kiss had felt good, seeing the look on his face when she'd pulled back, that had felt _great_.

Her throat constricted. The warmth was gone now, replaced by waves of nausea, and she suddenly felt very afraid of something she could not (_would not_) place. There was a _pull_ here, one that shouldn't be _here_, or in any way associated with her brother, and however much she loathed introspection, it was too strong now to completely ignore.

And, really, she wasn't _Justin_, she didn't need to _label_ everything, didn't need everything carefully arranged and ordered, but whatever this was wasn't even on the _map_, and even someone like her could see this was seriously messed up.

She shivered, suddenly cold, and pulled her knees to her chest. No one could know about this. Harper would _kill_ her. Juliet- well, Juliet might _actually_ kill her.

And Justin...

Justin would _freak_.

Almost against her will, she smirked, picturing his reaction; if he lost it over one lousy snowball, (okay, two, but so what?), something like _this_ would probably send him running for a mental institution.

Which was probably where she'd end up when her parents found out about this little... _this_.

Her mouth turned sour, the spark of mirth vanishing.

Okay, well, this was just going to have to be something that wasn't. She's Alex and she's always been good at doublethinking and not thinking and she's just going to forget about this.

She's not going to feel her stomach clench when she sees him the next morning, that little shock of warmth when he touches her arm, that jerk in her chest when he asks if she's okay, because she _hadn't_ been like totally staring at him.

And she's going to swallow, and fake a smile, and tell him she's _fine_. And she's _not_ going to put hot sauce in his cereal no matter how tempted she is, because that leads somewhere she can't afford to go.

And for a few weeks he'll wonder why she's being so nice, while she avoids him like the plague. And in a month or two they'll start to slowly but surely slip back into their old routine, and it'll feel _good_, but not _too_ good, because whenever she starts to feel _that_ way she'll swallow it.

And she doesn't dream about him. Really, she doesn't.

And, with time and luck, she'll find she doesn't feel anything at all.

A/N: I wasn't quite sure how to end this. I have a hard time writing dialogue, but I'm trying to get some practice. Any advice anyone can give me is welcome. _Please _review- I'll be eternally grateful, and with luck, motivated to write something else.


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